


Unrequited

by TrilliumWoods



Category: The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Mild Blood, Orgasm Denial, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrilliumWoods/pseuds/TrilliumWoods
Summary: Lock could never love her, demons like him were incapable of it. All he could do was seduce and manipulate and control, using her body and her devotion to him to slake his unquenchable lust and boundless ego.  But then again, perhaps I wasn't capable of loving her, either. Perhaps what I thought was love was really only longing, a futile hope that maybe she could fill up the yawning void where my heart should be.  Perhaps she didn't require love.  Maybe that's what selling your soul to a demon got you: a lust that was as fiery hot as the hell that had birthed him, but at the same time as cold and empty as the graves that were my domain. All I knew is that she only had eyes for him, even when I wasn't invisible to them.  She always had.





	Unrequited

Lock could charm people into selling him their souls, could tempt them to act out every sinful desire or wicked thought that the darkest depths of the human heart could produce. Shock, she could curse and hex and kill their mortal bodies, or urge them by way of enchantment or example to sell their souls to Lock just as she had done – for every witch and warlock had sold their soul to one demon or another. But me, all I could do was hunger and haunt. It was all I had ever done, lurking quietly in the shadows of my cohorts, in awe of their wickedness while I merely ate and ate everything I could to try and satiate my bottomless hunger. While they were sending humans to their death and damnation and growing stronger with every soul, I lurked in the graveyards and consumed the rotting flesh of their victims once they were finally put in the ground, just to keep my own shambling carcass from evaporating into dust. I couldn’t strike the same kind of dread in their hearts that my cohorts could, didn’t make them fear everlasting torment but rather I repulsed and horrified them with the threat of desecration, of the last remains of their mortal bodies feeding an unnatural creature that haunted the graveyard and churned up the soil with its wide hands and feet to unearth corpses both fresh and decayed, and that would stare at and startle any witnesses with its round, unblinking eyes and wide, toothy grin that was dripping with the flesh and hair of the dead.  
  
Even though my powers were relatively weak compared to theirs, haunting was a thing that only I could do among us. I could move silently, blur myself into the background and cloud the perception of others so that even Lock’s sharp eyes and Shock's keen nose couldn’t quite detect me. This haunting would make the hairs on the back of human necks stand on end but it didn’t affect creatures such as myself, such as my cohorts, and when I wished to fade away from them I could do so and they would feel nothing amiss. I used this talent frequently, for even within the dank and dirty walls of our home I hungered – but for more than just the flesh of the dead. The flesh I craved here was an entirely different sort: it was pale and smooth and sickly green, wrapped around the slender bones and no-doubt delicious viscera of the witch I had known and loved for my entire wretched existence. 

Lock could never love her, demons like him were incapable of it. All he could do was seduce and manipulate and control, using her body and her devotion to him to slake his unquenchable lust and boundless ego.  But then again, perhaps I wasn't capable of loving her, either. Perhaps what I thought was love was really only longing, a futile hope that maybe she could fill up the yawning void where my heart should be.  Perhaps she didn't require love. Maybe that's what selling your soul to a demon got you: a lust that was as fiery hot as the hell that had birthed him, but at the same time as cold and empty as the graves that were my domain. All I knew is that she only had eyes for him, even when I wasn't invisible to them.  She always had.

His crimson tail wrapped tightly around her leg, looked like a bone-deep, bloody gash through her porcelain flesh and that image made my mouth water and my erection throb.  I watched enviously as he thrust inside of her, the strong, lean muscles of his back and buttocks flexing and rippling as he took her with a ferocity that my sluggish body could never achieve. The rest of his skin looked smooth and cold like pure white marble, but I knew that it was hot enough to burn a mortal and that only a creature such as Shock could withstand it – many a human had burned up in his lustful embrace on their way to damnation.  She keened and wailed like a black cat in heat, begging him to consume her and make her his own, which was a pointless request since she had always been his. Lock would do whatever she needed: he could be soft and smooth and controlled, whispering words of seduction as he moved slowly against her, reminding her that she was his and his alone, and that she always would be. Other times he grunted and growled like a werewolf protecting its kill and he would move quickly and viciously, pounding into her so hard that it seemed to make the very house shake as he moaned and cursed and bit her with his razor teeth. Either way he dominated her completely, and by the way her body quivered and shook, by the look of ecstatic agony on her face and the way that she moaned and screamed I had to assume that she loved it that way. Me, I would gladly sell a hundred of my souls if I had them just for the chance to serve her, for her to dominate me the way that Lock dominated her, or even more so.  I would lick her boots if she commanded me to - I would lick them without even being told and I would thank her for allowing me. I would suffer and degrade myself any way she desired, though I couldn't think of many ways to degrade a creature such as myself, one that already wallowed in the dirt as a matter of course to acquire its meals.  She smelled of poisons and herbs and Lock smelled of smoke and brimstone, while I smelled of rotting flesh and soil... but here in the room right now all I could smell was their fornication.

She raked her talons down his back, coaxing blood as dark and as red as his hair from the white marble of his skin and when he groaned in pleasure I groaned along with him, desperately wishing it was me she was marking with her passion. My own skin was a little more grey and my blood nearly black, but I knew it would look just as good if she was the one tearing my cold flesh. I suppose that most voyeurs would pleasure themselves as they watched and heard and smelled such a scene but I never could, not even as my cock leaked and strained against my clothes. Not because of any notions of dignity - as if I could ever hope to possess such a trait - but rather because in the end, to deny and torture myself this way caused me less pain than the fleeting ecstasy of orgasm. If I allowed myself to climax along with them the aching hunger and despair that followed was so deep and so sharp that it was nearly unbearable. So it was better to refrain and once they were finished - at least for the time being, for they were never sated for long - eventually I would return to my usual level of hunger and emptiness.  But I couldn't keep from watching, from existing vicariously through my devilish friend as he ravaged her gorgeous body and her wicked soul. With one final, powerful surge of his hips his head bent back in ecstasy and his body went tense and still, and I knew that he had filled her with his hot, unholy seed and I actually felt happy for him in a sick, sad sort of way... almost as much as I hated and envied him. She writhed even more violently beneath him and screamed as though the flesh were being flayed from her bones, and the sound alone was almost my undoing.

 

When he collapsed on top of her and rolled a bit to the side I could finally clearly see her face, flushed blotchy red from his heat and her climax, sweat beaded on her brow. Her wicked black eyes were closed in rapture for a moment before she opened them and looked directly through me, then her lips twisted into an evil sort of smile. I think they knew that I watched them even if they couldn’t see me clearly, for no doubt my control slipped during moments like this and I couldn’t stay as thoroughly concealed. I was nearly certain that she knew, even if he didn’t… and I’m completely certain that she got off on it. Shock liked to see creatures suffering, even her friends, so if my miserable face and aching erection was the only way I could contribute to her sexual satisfaction, then I would gladly provide.

 

I crept slowly away from them as she continued to smirk – I didn’t want to see whatever post-coital rituals they may have developed over the years, if any. I had my own ritual: flee to the graveyard, any graveyard, and gorge myself on flesh and bone and entrails until I could hold no more, but still the gnawing hunger would remain. It always had, and it always would.


End file.
